No matter how “smart” mass cognition psychosis seems to be at times, it still suffers from one major drawback for the illusionists: it requires the characters involved in the narrative to behave in a way inconsistent with what we already know about them….and/or how we would expect any normal person to react to a given stimulus.
After the 2008 debacle, by 2011/12, it was generally observed by ‘expert’ media commentators that the game was up for the bankers, that more regulation was the order of the day, and the insanity of QE would have to stop. I bought into that expectation, because like most investors I hadn’t by then grasped the aims and determined chutzpah of the financial community centred around Wall Street, and its contacts in the world of tech, geopolitics and Secret State surveillance. So much so, in fact, during 2010 I went nap on Bear Notes for my SIPP, and sat back ready to haul in the fruits of adversity.
At that time, my friend Will Hutton – still a prominent economic and sovereign fiscal journalist in those days – was hawkish about the need to control bankers, and managed to convince me that a Tory government held back by the instincts of the Liberal Democrats in the UK would have to grin and bear it. The banking fraternity, he insisted, would be put back in a box the way the trade unions had been thirty years before.
We had both failed to grasp, however, the permanent change in economic power balance between physical manufacturing and distribution on the one hand, and the bankrollers, service bandits and Silicon oddball virtualists on the other. The latter group was about to quietly creep from behind and become – not the servants of business – but the entire point of the exercise in the first place.
I still think this was a major turning point in the business of wealth creation. Spurred on by the euro currency believers, the rapid advance of “clever” tech effects, and the almost secret stealth of financial influence versus the old model of direct share ownership, the suspense of reality in favour of hype became not a passing phase, but yet another “virtual” reality to replace 3D physicality such as that recognised by our own species spectrum….however limited that is now recognised to be.
If we take a brief flight over the terrain of bourse-dominated capitalism since around 1996 (financial market deregulation having been undertaken by the late 1980s) we see a further dimension of Homo sapiens’ dash for the duvet in preference to real life.
Letting bankers take the wheel of a vehicle only half-heartedly supplied with brakes was a nice idea until one thought about all the spivs, brylcreem boys and accountancy houdinis met during a communications career spanning three decades.
Electing Blair and Brown in 1997 seemed some form of release until one observed the behaviour of these two on first, being City friendly, and second, doing anything that the centre of the New World (Washington-sur-Langley) wanted….as in, everything from invading Iraq to selling them our gold at rock bottom. Their third fantastic idea – uncontrolled immigration – made sense if you were a Labour politician, but was always going to be unpopular among those hoping to import skills rather than hungry mouths.
In short, Labour Party Political Broadcasts insisted that the Left was as socialist as ever, but its behaviour was metropolitan and trendy, rather than designed to boost physical exports to bring jobs to the skilled ‘C2’ working class in the provinces. They favoured mechanisation and migration, and denied that the living standards of those working at the sharp end of the newer sort of light engineering were falling. In turn, Brown the clucking globaglobaglobagloba obsessive was happy for factory jobs to go ‘offshore’ to Asia – as indeed was Slick Willy who had pioneered the Third Way so successfully in the US.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but that doesn’t make it false: the Nineties and Naughties on both sides of the Pond marked the end of any real Leftist ambition to dismantle the status quo. Had they ignored the soundbites in favour of the behaviours, more people would have spotted it…Tony Benn for example, who grasped precisely what a neo-fascist global bloc the European Union wanted to be.
Here too, the internationalist fluffies favoured blocist power and glory over the facts. The single currency was and is a terrible idea: the traditional French socialist as represented by François Hollande wrote a paper in 1992 with his colleague Pierre Muscovici and hit the Single Currency nail squarely on the head – viz, the social anthropology of Nord versus Med as users of the euro “rules” would be like oil and water….and so it has proved.
Early on in the new century, one or two clear minds began to point out that, in just 40 years, Britain’s farming and manufacturing output had shrunk from 34 to 7% of gdp. Something similar was taking place in the States, but then the US is self-sufficient in almost everything. For a tiny UK to be almost wholly dependent on imported food and manufactured goods and an open door to every migrant victim on the planet was a strategic accident waiting to happen.
I am now esconced in Gambia, and the degree of potential blackmail of this tiny country would be a political nightmare were it not for the fact that its Islamic ally Saudi Arabia gives it lots of money and subsidies. The UK has no such reliable ally: the Special Relationship is a sick joke, and the petulant French élite do everything in their power to screw us….from pernickety EU inbound flight rules to additional customs checks and boatloads of “refugees” pointed in our direction.
The coming winter is about to demonstrate the UK’s almost infantile dependence on others. Yet Liz Truss touts us as a global warrior who can lay low both the Russians and Chinese without breaking into a sweat. We’re getting ahead of ourselves here – but now 22 years later, we can see how broad the mad acceptance of complete tosh is. All this post has covered so far is the bizarre ability of City slickers to persuade people – made soft by decades of cheap goods – that you can eat derivative swaps, or keep warm by burning analysts’ reports into the growth of metaverse virtuality……..
It ends because, for the second day running, my Microsoft Wordpad app’s upload content was wiped. I can only conclude (as in each case I went on to reveal State criminality about gdp figures, citizen pensions, Whitehall fraud et al) the pinched goblins decided enough was enough. Also, I suspect, of some significance was a practical How To Guide I’d devised trying to bring ‘Don’t comply, complain’ to life by showing exactly how online name-and-shame could suddenly produce hitherto undiscovered money trees and proper service.
I don’t know. All I can tell you is that my Gambian geek (no techie slouch he) was astonished that the Resetters were able to gain such intimate access. He being a thorough sort of chap, he went through hard drive, recovery, bin search and all the usual suspects from broken links and software bugs to corrupted programs – and then pronounced himself baffled. The look he gave was redolent of both respect and fear; it could well be that he now sees me as a dangerous international terrorist.
In fact, I am far from special and such invasions are less and less rare: on the whole, they tell the cage-rattler that Albert has annoyed Wallace the lion. The trouble is that these dystopian interventions really get to me.
I don’t know a single writer of my acquaintance who doesn’t feel exactly the same about censorship. The reasons why vary of course, but at a superficial level it can feel like someone burning your children to death before your very eyes; in my case, at a more profound level it brings back traumatic memories of being a precocious child constantly pushing at the boundaries of table-talk, and being told to shut-up-because-you-know-nothing.
I probably did, but that’s not the point. A suburban dinner table in 1950s Manchester did not in any way resemble the pre-War Mitford extremes of radical thought that assailed Evelyn Waugh every time he took Sunday lunch there.
Over at our house, emotions, sex, politics, religion, strikes, race and economics were off-piste: the approved topics consisted largely of cooking, cloth, soccer, what was showing at the Prestwich Odeon and Hancock’s Half Hour.
Anyway, that said, all I can do given the lost prose I tried to buff and hone over the last 48 hours is to poke the bastards firmly in each eye and reiterate the main points I was making:
- Don’t comply, complain
- Be wary of the massive threat posed by globalist surveillance monopolies.
- Don’t give up hope, because the soundbites they vomit up will always be auto-condemned by their inability to stop behaving badly.